


prevail for him

by riverwood



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ableist Language, Biblical Allusions, Combat PTSD, Cussing, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Literary References & Allusions, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverwood/pseuds/riverwood
Summary: When all is dark, who do you fight for?(Short story I wrote for school).





	prevail for him

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote for a creative writing class. I wanted to save to somewhere so here on archive it shall stay. I don't expect anyone to read it, but I liked it enough.
> 
> There is some language that might be triggering. Descriptions of war, talk of male genitalia in more than one way (what makes a man a man is one, which I understand isn't pleasant for some. Understand anything that I write isn't necessarily what I believe), and somewhat ableist view points. This also involves Vietnam combat, which is a controversial war, so just know this isn't me saying anything on the subject, I just had to write a war story for a class. 
> 
> There are allusions to books/biblical stories in here. Bonus points if you can find them.
> 
> I might delete this if I find a better place to store it.

**_Miah_ **

 

“The Marine Corps build men.”

It’s what my dad and many others had told me my whole life. Military makes men. It’s what the poster outside of the market told me, right next to Uncle Sam who never stopped pointing at me. No matter how many times I was told this, I didn’t heed any words. I wasn’t the athletic one of the family, my teenage years consisting of after school study sessions with cute girls that never paid me any mind if I wasn’t helping them with their history assignments. No sir, I wasn’t an athlete. 

My dad tried to pass me a football when I was 5 years old, only to have it smash me in the forehead and send me crashing to the ground, flailing and crying for my mom. She wouldn’t run out for me, so I would have to run to her. Nothing came of it, she didn’t soothe me or kiss me. No, the only thing she did was wave me off like I was the family dog begging for food. When my older brother Thomas chucked a baseball at me when I was 7, it was the first time I ever lost a tooth. The two front ones. Thomas instructed me to put them under my pillow for money, but when I awoke my teeth were still there. I was desperate for cash, so I told Thomas to throw another baseball at me. No sir, I wasn’t an athlete.

Tommy was always the sporty one. There wasn’t a minute that my brother wasn’t outside in the streets, chucking a ball one way and then dashing like the wind to catch it. In high school he played every sport they offered: baseball, football, basketball, you name it, he’s played it. By the time he got to senior year, he already had college almost fully covered due to all the scholarships he got from the athleticism. If he didn’t drop out, I have no doubt that he’d go professional.

I wasn’t the athlete, but I had to become the soldier.

 

**_Thomas_ **

 

I was 3 when I became a big brother. I didn’t want a sister like most boys, so I ran and told everyone in my school when my mom announced that they were having another boy. The days leading up to my big brother initiation, I failed to hold in my excitement. No longer would I have to walk a mile down the street to talk to the other boys my age - now, someone to play baseball with would always be by my side.

Jeremiah Noel McCarthy was born December 24th, 1948, during the worst blizzard Vermont had seen in years. Snow piled up to past my father’s height, making a journey to the hospital impossible. I remember my mother’s wails, and I remember my father’s weeping. However, I remember my brother’s cries above all else. The moment I saw his face, red with screams, I felt the tears slide down my cheeks like a river. My mother looked at me and managed a weak smile; the only smile I had seen from her in a long time. My father held my brother out to me, telling me to take him in my arms. I was scared I would break him, as if he would shatter like glass and my few seconds of brotherhood would be gone forever. My 3 year old mind couldn’t comprehend something so fragile. 

My father saw my dilemma and ushered me to into his arms, so we could hold the babe together. I sat in his lap as he lowered my brother into my arms, cradling my brother and I both. My brothers small, meek hand wrapped itself around my finger and held it close. He continued his wailing, I continued my crying.

There was nothing I wanted to do more than protect him.

I loved him. I loved him so much.

 

**_Mori_ **

 

I grew up with two older brothers in the house. I knew only chaos.

Our household never held a silent night. Our parents would retreat out almost every night, leaving Thomas in charge of the two of us. By the time he was 9, he was my full time babysitter. I was only 3 at the time, but I recognized the burden he had. I began to hate myself for it. 

Miah was always there, though. I watched the bond my brothers had grow stronger and stronger every single day as they looked after me. The nights that I cried in the dark for my mother, or when I would reach out for my father, two boys would look over my bed and cradle me close. It was the few peaceful nights we had together, when the two of them put aside their constant wrestling and play-fighting for me. They put everything on hold for me.

The constant masculine activities became a daily routine. I never had knees that weren’t bloodied and bruised. The women in the neighborhood would scold and slap me for wrestling and spitting, and they would call my mother to tell her how much of a bad job she was doing at raising me. In reality, they should’ve told my brothers that. 

They raised me. My mother didn’t do shit.

 

**_Miah_ **

 

Admittedly, I don’t really remember much of my mother. None of us do, aside from Tommy. He will try and talk fondly of her, but the strain in his voice is evident. No one can think highly of that woman. 

I’m adamant that I don’t remember much of her; but there are things that have been burned into my head like I was branded: her hands around my brother’s throat, and her back as she walked out the door. 

If I saw her today, I’d spit at her. My dad told me to never hit women, and I never will, but she’s not a woman. She’s a fucking bitch.

How my father married her, I’ll never know.

He was nothing like her. Dad was the man you’d see running across the grocery store parking lot to go help an old man carry his bags, or the man who volunteered at every school event without being asked, simply because he wanted to be there. Dad was that man. Tommy tells me he yelled a couple of times, but I’ve forgotten every memory that wasn’t warm and light. Maybe I chose to forget it, but I can’t say for sure.

We went to go live with our Uncle John after our father died. Dad’s funeral was the last time I ever saw my uncle cry, it was the last time I wrapped myself in my father's blanket, and it was the last time I saw my sister smile. 

Thomas looks just like him, y’know. They have that same bright smile, same warm blue eyes, and same golden wheat-like hair that made girls on the street swoon. He was the spitting image of my father.

I would never admit it, but I hated looking at Mori. She looked just like my mother.

 

**_Thomas_ **

 

Dark and stormy was the night when my brother sauntered through the doorway, sopping wet from head to toe. His brown hair dripped water onto the carpet as he shook it out like a dog. I stopped trying to reprimand him for making a mess years ago, as it never truly worked. Besides, reprimanding a 19 year old boy just seems ridiculous. If he didn’t change when he was a kid, then he isn’t going to change anytime soon.

Miah didn’t say anything, unusual for a boy who never kept his mouth shut. The blue eyes that always shined bright looked dull and avoided my direction like the plague. The usual bright smile and sunny laughter he carried when he came home seemed to vanish, leaving nothing but an empty shell of my brother.

I tried to draw out the little brother I knew for years in anyway I could. I reached out and poked his belly, throwing my own smile his way.

“How was work?” I asked, trying to usher him to sit beside my on the couch. For a moment, he just stood there, silent and lost in his mind. The urge of grabbing him and throwing him onto the couch myself almost took over until he took a seat himself.

“I didn’t go,” Miah’s voice sounded like it was pre-recorded ,”I called out sick.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is up with you?” it came out harsher than intended, evident by the flinch that flashed on Miah’s face.

I let the room fill with silence and gave him a minute to say something, but he stayed trapped in his mind and wouldn’t let me in. It was evident I would have to break down walls myself.

“Alright,” I sighed and grabbed his shoulder ,”if you ain’t gonna tell me what’s going on, I’ll have to- “

“Two of my buddies from high school got caught in the draft,” he cut me off ,”I found out this morning. Happy?”

I grimaced ,”no, I’m not happy. The hell your buddies got to do with you?”

“It’s not just my friends, everyone’s getting caught in this lottery shit,” Miah voice sounded as if he were being choked,”any of your friends been sent over yet?”

“A couple, but it doesn’t concern me.”

“It concerns me!” 

“Okay, so what!?” spit flew from my mouth, “what the hell are you gonna do about it? You’re just a boy!”

“I’m a man!”

“Then start acting like one!”

Miah looked at me with glazed over eyes and a furrowed brow. Before I could reconcile and console him, he swung around and put his fist into my uncle’s wall. 

“I talked to a recruiter today,” Miah’s voice filled to the brim with venom, “you’ll be rid of me eventually.”

 

**_Mori_ **

 

“You’re gonna have to learn to cook around here, y’know,” I heard my uncle’s voice from across the kitchen as he dug through the fridge for another beer ,”I can’t keep scrounging for food all the time when I can have you make a perfectly fine dinner. You get what I mean?”

“I guess,” I shrugged my shoulder and flipped through the rest of my book, avoiding an interaction with him. From the corner of my eye, I caught him eyeing me, and I realized he knew what I was trying to do.

He put his beer on the table and gave me a glare that make my insides run cold.

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to,” he growled and wiped the spit from his lip ,”there’s always some girl’s home you could turn to.”

I usually would cry after being told off like that, but I didn’t feel the need for tears. The only thing I wanted, was the chance to meet my uncle before he was in the second world war.

My head was always down in this house. If I looked up and my uncle was drunk, he’d scream at me. If I looked up and he was sober enough to think straight, he’d favor me in a way my brothers couldn’t see. I had to take 40 minute long showers, because in this house, I never felt clean. In this house, there was men, and then there was me.

I often turned to Miah in my moments of weakness. Thomas would be too harsh on me if I tried to cry to him, telling me I’d have to suck it up “like the rest of us”. Miah was never like that. Even though he never spoke a word, his presence was enough. The hours I would spend crying and ranting to him equated to ten years of therapy. No one could compare to him.

He decided not to tell me he was enlisting until a week before he left. The idea my brother had was the less I cried before he left, the better it would be for everyone. The more he lied to me the easier it would be for him. Thomas was the one to sit me down and tell me as more of an emphasis that I needed to get a job somewhere. I didn’t even get to find out from the very boy who chose to leave me. 

The moment that I could confront him I cornered him like a deer. He must’ve forgotten the usual time of when I would get home from school, because the look in his eyes showed nothing but discomfort and guilt. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he awkwardly smiled at me. He had the audacity to smile at me ,”how was school?”

I put my hand on my hips and raised an eyebrow ,”oh, I don’t know, how was ignoring me for a solid 2 weeks?”

“...I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Oh!” My mouth fell ajar and I threw him an aghast look ,”I’m sorry, but I don’t know what makes you think you can tell me what to do right now. You’re on thin ice, you have no privilege to tell me what to do.”

The glare Miah sent in my direction felt like embodiment of dread had buried itself in my chest. Nervous shivered racked my body as I dared to look him square in the eye.

“You need to grow the hell up,” he snarled like a hellhound ,”I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d throw a tantrum like a child. I am an adult, and I will damn well do what I please with my life.”

“With no regards to your family!?”

“With every regard for my family - and my country.”

I gripped a fistful of my hair and stomped on the ground ,”god dammit, when did you develop this savior complex? You’re putting yourself in danger, and for what?! For respect? Honor? A quick buck? You’re only thinking of yourself and you know it.”

Miah whipped himself off the couch so fast I could’ve sworn he was going to lunge at me. I hadn’t realized just how much taller he was compared to me, just how broad his shoulders were compared to mine. He could break me in an instance with little movement. My heart climbed into my throat and choked any more words.

“Why the hell do you think you can act like my mother?” his voice dripped with bite, “what the hell gave you that idea?”

“Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have a mom and no one is gonna tell you what needs to be said!”

I didn’t mean it. The second I said it I wanted to take it back and beg for forgiveness, do anything I could to gain his trust once more. It was too late, though, I lost him.

All I felt was Miah’s hand raised at me and coming down across my face. I must’ve cried out because before Miah could come any closer, Tommy ran into the room and grabbed him and shoved him away from me. They screamed at each other for what seemed like forever, but I was deaf to their words. The only thing I could focus on was the sting on my cheek and the sorrow in my heart. 

I heard Tommy say something to me, though I couldn’t make it out. The only thing I heard was Miah:

“You’re starting to look just like her.”

I had already felt distant from Thomas - I never thought I'd be distant from Miah, too.

 

**_Miah_ **

 

Train rides are long enough to give you time to think. Unwanted time to revel in your thoughts and drown in guilt. I thought about my uncle telling me to keep my head down ad to never trust anyone in the military (specifically recruiters). The smell of whiskey didn’t engulf him, so I heeded everything he said. He was a drunkard, but a drunkard for a reason. My uncle knew more than any man should know. 

“Keep yourself safe, kid,” he managed a smile ,”my brother would strike me down if he ever found out anything happened to his boy.”

I thought about Tommy holding me close, almost cradling me as he made me promise not to be stupid. I made him promise the same. Neither of us would stay true to our word.

“Take this,” he whispered and slipped a cross into my pocket ,”if not for us, do it for Him.”

I thought of Mori wrapping her arms around me tight, but nothing more. No tears, no words, no kisses on the cheek, nothing. It was like I was looking at the empty shell of what once was my sister.

She didn’t have to say anything, because I didn’t deserve it. The last thing I thought about, as I looked at my right hand, was how I slapped my little sister, the sting still hinting at my palm.

I never forgave myself.

 

-

 

Vermont boys don’t fair well in New Jersey, is what I was told by my commanding officer. Fort Dix was right in the middle of the garden state and didn’t shy away from showing off the insufferable accents. When I heard that same commanding officers voice, I mentally apologized to every New Englander who I made fun of for saying idea like ‘idear’. It was nothing compared to how these people spoke.

The year I joined, 1967, boot camp was a mandatory 8 weeks. 8 weeks of hell. 8 weeks of contemplating suicide. My privileged years came to a halt the second I stood in that line naked among dozens of other young men. I was screamed at, humiliated, ridiculed, and made to feel worthless. The first 3 weeks I was alone in my mind going out the days learning the routines, doing the exercises, and trying not to get the shit kicked out of me. For the most part, I wasn’t successful. 

I wasn’t an athlete, and that never changed during basic training. 

The day was a sauntering heat when we ran through our everyday course. I was good at crawling fast, and was flexible enough to bend easily through the course, but my upper arm strength wasn’t what it should have been. All the boys around me clearly had a football background from high school, while the only background in football I had was writing about it in the school newspaper. 

We were forced to climb up the net wall and make it over, which most had no trouble with. It was nothing but a harbinger of pain for me. My feet were too big to fit easily in the holes and my biceps too inept to hoist myself up. I couldn’t cry in front of everyone, that would ruin every chance I had of gaining any respect, but I also couldn’t just stay clinging onto the ropes doing nothing.

Before I could pass out and tumble to the ground in a pathetic heap, I felt an arm grip around my torso and thrust me over the obstacle like a sack of flour. Gasping for air as I crashed to the ground, I desperately looked around to see what was going on, only to feel the same arm grip me tight and drag me towards the rest of the exercise.

“You gonna get in trouble again if they catch you failing,” the voice was deep, yet youthful and pleasant to the ear. It existed in my mind, but never had a name to put to it.

“I got you,” I heard the voice speak again, causing me to almost cry out of relief.

Though my speech was slurred and probably incoherent, I managed two words:

“Thanks, partner.”

 

-

 

We had made it through the rest of the exercise and finished as the sun set began to hide behind the horizon. No one wore a smile, only tired eyes and ajared mouths that desperately gasped for air. They successfully broke our bones and broke our spirits.

My savior turned out to be the young man who slept a few beds down. A tall, muscular, black man by the name of Will whom I had only known for keeping his head down and never uttering a word to anyone. He confessed I was the first person he bothered to talk to throughout his weeks at basic training, though for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why. He was handsome and charismatic when you got him to show his personality. Smart and kind, I knew God never meant for him to be here. The fates got their threads tangled and he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Where do you fair from, friend?” I asked him, curious. Everything about him sang mystery.

“Atlanta.”

“New Jersey? You from here?”

“No, sir. Georgia.”

“Ah,” I said ,”never met a Georgia boy.”

“Never met a Vermont boy.”

“Fair,” I chuckled ,”Will, you seem like a smart person. Why’re you here? You get drafted?”

Will gave me a confused look ,”no, I enlisted, my brother got drafted, though.”

“That why you joined?”

“Partially, and because it’s the only opportunity I had.”

I laughed ,”nonsense! From what you told me, you’re a smart guy. You could get somewhere.”

“No, no I couldn’t.”

“What makes you say as such?”

The expression Will gave me bellowed frustration ,”Vermont must’ve sheltered you, huh? I don’t know how they do it up North, but it ain’t like that where I come from.”

Everything he said went over my head, but we changed the subject anyways. My entire life, I considered myself smart, I considered myself a thinker, but I never realized just how ignorant I truly was.

**_Thomas_ **

 

It felt like years had passed since I saw my brother off on that train, though realistically it must’ve been a couple of months. My uncle told me he figured Miah was finishing up AIT and would be over seas in less time than we would like. Mori said nothing when I told her, the only thing she gave me was a look of emptiness with glazed over eyes. She looked like a kicked puppy, bathing in her own self pity.

I couldn’t stand to look at her. Miah was right; she looked just like our mother.

-

 

“Do you have any ideas for jobs?” I had asked her while she made dinner. It must’ve been a bad time, because she slammed the wooden spoon down on the counter.

“I go to school, isn’t that enough?” she practically spit in my direction.

“I mean, I guess,” I shrugged and continued to skim over the newspaper ,”it would just be nice for you to start working so you can have experience.”

“I need to focus on school right now,” was all she said.

I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer, “We’re used to having 3 sources of income, I’m just saying it would be nice for you to get a waitressing job or something.”

“Why? You took Miah’s money, and now you want to take mine?”

“You have no idea what your brother and I have been working for for all these years, you don’t get to talk,” I gripped the newspaper until my knuckles turned white ,”and who do you think you’re talking to? You’re 16, watch your tongue.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she yelled and threw the wooden spoon at me, which I easily dodged. She had an awful throw, it’s why she never got into softball ,”I don’t need to work, because unlike  _ some  _ of us, I plan to try in school and not drop out.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Why do you think I dropped out!?” I hollered, crumpling up my newspaper ,”who do you think I did that for!? Dad died, and I had to provide for my siblings. Do you think our uncle could provide for all 3 of us on his own?! I had to work, and work I did. I had to step up where dad no longer could!”

“Take your stupid dinner,” she growled and slammed the plate in front of me and made her way for the front door.

“And where do you think you’re going- .”

“No matter how hard you try, Thomas,” she snarled at me in a way that made my blood run cold ,”you will  _ never _ be like dad.”

Mori slammed the door so hard the picture of my siblings and I that had hung on the wall for years crashed to the floor and broke into a million pieces. I held the old photo in my shaking hands and felt as if I was choking. I forced myself not to cry when my mother left, at my dad’s funeral, or when I saw Miah board that train, but all of it came crumbling down as soon as I saw my sister leave me. Floodgates were torn down after years and years of building it up.

I stared at the hole Miah had punched in the wall for what seemed like hours, and it made me realize how much I relied on my brother. I couldn’t survive without him, and neither could Mori. 

Without him, we unraveled. 

 

**_Mori_ **

 

I didn’t go anywhere when I slammed the door, I stayed on the front porch and trembled like an earthquake, drowning in guilt and tears. I loved my brother and I hated myself for everything I dared to say to him. I hated myself for what I did to both of them, and yet I had too much pride to just apologize on the spot. They gave up everything for me, but I still acted like I did. There was every reason for them to hate me.

This wasn’t like the time when I almost got caught kissing Michelle Lindenburg behind the school gym, or the time when the police almost caught me getting high with the cheerleaders. I had never felt such fear - the fear of losing both my brothers.

The guilt became to much to bear, so I crept closer to the door and pressed myself against the wood. I wrapped my knuckles against it until I felt Tommy’s weight against the otherside, though he said nothing. He didn’t have to, I didn’t deserve his words.

“Hey,” I whispered as the tears continued to fall ,”I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back, you already said it,” his voice was tear filled and stuffy, and I figured he cried too.

“I know,” I sobbed ,”I-I’m so sorry.”

“Do you actually hate me?” he asked, which caused a spike to go through my heart ,”do you really think I’m nothing like dad?”

“N-no!” I didn’t mean to raise my voice, “no...I just got mad…”

“You do that a lot with me, but not Miah.”

“...you love Miah more,” my voice was hushed and barely above a whisper ,”I figured you hated me, that I was nothing more than a burden.”

“I could never hate you,” I could hear him start to cry again.

“I’m just like mom, aren’t I?”

Tommy’s voice caught in his throat when the words left my tongue, but I needed to know. He knew about mom more than both Miah and I. I don’t remember her face, her voice, or her actions; I was too young to remember. But Tommy remembered everything, and from what Miah has told me, he wishes Tommy didn’t.

“...you’re not a drunk,” he whispered ,”you never went out of your way to hurt people.”

“And above all,” he continued, “you realize your actions are wrong. Mom never did. She just left when dad wouldn’t let her get away with her shit anymore.”

My brother flung the door open and pulled me in, holding onto me for dear life. I had never cried so hard in my life as I stuffed my face in his shoulder, and he did the same for me. We both shook enough to start an earthquake, but neither of us cared. In that moment, we just wanted each other. 

And in that moment, I finally understood him.

 

**_Miah_ **

 

AIT blew by like it was nothing. In reality, it was days and nights of grueling work that would make an average civilians skin crawl, but anything was better than basic training. No matter what, Will stuck by my side. Even when we got to Nam, I don’t remember a moment that he didn’t watch out for me. We became known as the two that never left each other alone, and we got nicknames, too: yin and yang. I knew it was because of the fact that our skin colors differed, but Will didn’t seem to get offended; or at least he didn’t show it.

We all were well aware of how American boys were treated over in Nam, but none of us were truly prepared. We were spit on, screamed at, and beat in the streets. Some of my men were lured in by Saigon whores and left with mutilated genitalia, screaming and crying bloody murder. 

I want to forget the crying children in the streets and the lonely women in the alley ways. I want to forget how my men treated those young Vietnamese girls, as if we were above them. What I remember the most is walking through the streets with my buddies, and seeing a little girl, sitting there, curled in a ball, crying. She was as thin as paper and as frail as glass, and she wouldn’t stop sobbing. My men ushered Will and I on, saying it wasn’t our job to babysit, but as I sit and think now, what would have happened if I had just helped her? What consequence would I be given for helping a little girl? I don’t know. Then again, I don’t know a lot.

It was February when we got transferred from Minh City up North to Hue. Battles were heating up in the citadel - the place the people held so dear to their hearts from the times of true imperialism. I was told it was once a beautiful place of wonder and wealth and worship, but when I first saw it, my stomach churned. The place these people cherished, utterly destroyed.

My men and I snuck into the citadel under order of Colonel Stanley Springer. I was nothing but a foot soldier, something I chose when I went in for infantry back in AIT. We were grunts without names, the lowest of the low. If need be, we were weapons, and if also need be, we were shields, whether we liked it or not. 

The Viet Cong had attacked the citadel days before we had arrived, leaving the place a complete hell site. Will, a few others, and I, were sent in to retrieve any stray civilians that were still trapped in the city. From what I was told, civilian body count was skyrocketing by the time we had arrived. 

Gunshots rang out like a cacophony in my ears. Grenades boomed in the distance, pounding and pounding like leviathans drum, seemingly matching with my rapid heartbeat. I wanted to grab Dante by the neck and kill him for how much of an idiot he was, because this, truly, was the fifth layer of hell.

Will came across two Vietnamese women and a little girl huddled in the corner of a burning shed, all 3 of them shaking and praying. The little girl made eye contact with me as she sobbed, and for a moment, I saw my little sister.

Satan had me by the throat, for I couldn’t breath as sections of my troupe and I escorted the girls out, shielding them from the fire and debris. One of my men was shot in the head and fell to the ground like folded paper. None of us stopped to help.

I don’t know what happened to those girls. They were escorted to a refugee camp when I returned them to our own camp, but after that, I have no clue. I pray for that little girl today.

-

 

5 of the boys I knew died that day. I didn’t know the rest, but the numbers scared the sh*t out of me.

We gathered around in the camp we stationed ourselves in and prayed together around the bush we lit on fire for warmth. We prayed for love, we prayed for peace, and above all, we prayed for safety. It was unrealistic, I know, but faith was the last thing any of us had.

“I dream of tranquility for us and these people,” I whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear ,”I dream for all of our freedom.”

“Dreamer,” Will mumbled and another boy grimaced ,”I’ll have to give you a rainbow coat and call you the King of Dreams.”

He was right, I was a dreamer, but I didn’t say anything. I just stared at that burning bush. The flames flickered and danced like an old song long forgotten. I almost reached out and let my hands fall to the flames. It was welcoming and warm.

This burning bush, one only meant for warmth, turned into something that meant so much more to me than anything else I could think of.

It gave me only one thought:

Free us.

 

-

 

We were drawn back into the citadel by a burray of explosions in the distance. Another troupe of infantry soldier headed in for an ambush, walking into right where the Viet Cong were waiting. It was far away, but I swore I heard children screaming.

It was Will, 5 other men, and I who went around the citadel to sneak in unseen. 3 of the men swore they heard a child's cries, so they went to search. I never saw them again.

Fire licked at my feet and caught onto to my pants, but it didn’t concern me. I kept my eyes on Will the entire time. Throughout the months I’d known him, I’d never seen him break. He was always a serious, yet kind hearted young man whenever we would rough around together. It shook me to the core when I saw the fear in his eyes, like he was looking death in the face.

It almost didn’t register that a grenade had been thrown a few yards away from us. Almost.

_ Free us. _

“Get down!” I said as I threw myself on top of the grenade. I didn’t think of my siblings. I didn’t think of anything you should have thought of. I only thought of shielding everyone around me.

“No!” I heard Will scream. I felt him latch himself onto me and try to throw me, but it was too late. He landed on the grenade and I fell into him. We both triggered the explosion, we both shielded our men, but he hit it first. 

The taste of metal engulfed my mouth.

I thought about my dad before everything went black

 

**_Thomas_ **

 

Both my sister and I felt a sharp pain in our chests, causing us to gasp and fall backwards. We scrambled to compose ourselves, but we knew something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

“Lord help us,” I overheard my sister say.

 

**_Miah_ **

 

3 weeks I spent locked away in that military hospital. 3 weeks of wanting to die.

The explosion blew off the entirety of my left leg and most of my genitals. The doctors did the best they could but I’ll never be able to have children. Nurses gave me pitiful looks when they saw what was between my legs, or they had to stop themselves from laughing at me. 

I wasn’t a man. I was a laughing stock.

The man who was shot in the head on our rescue mission was buried with the Distinguished Service Cross when they retrieved the body. They gave me the purple heart and the ruptured duck pin. Will got nothing. 

I close my eyes now and still see his bloodied remains blown apart. I look down at my hands now and still see the blood that never seems to wash away. I did that. I killed my best friend. It should’ve been me, Will shouldn’t’ve even been there. He didn’t deserve this war, he deserved a good life, a good family. 

Friend, I send prayers of joining you. Wait for me.

 

**_Thomas_ **

 

My uncle and I picked up Miah from the train station when Mori was in school, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle it if she saw the condition he was in. Quite frankly, I could barely handle it myself.

The man I saw standing at that train station wasn’t the brother that had left months earlier. His hair, which had been shaved, began to grow back in and sported gray hairs amongst the brunet ones. The bright blue eyes that once shined with anticipation and wonder, were dull, lifeless almost. The eyes of a dead man. 

We helped him into my uncles old pick up truck, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own. Miah looked at us like a deer that had just been shot; pathetic and useless. I wanted nothing more than to cradle him close, but I knew it would further hurt his pride, so I let him be.

The next few months went by with little incidents. Miah didn’t leave the house often, not only because of his immobility, but because strangers made it a habit of cursing and spitting on him. “Murderer” they called him. “Baby killer” they sneered. I have never wanted to pumble people so hard in my life. My football days had been over, but in the moment, I almost went in for a tackle.

Miah never protested, though. He simply would go back inside and sit on the couch for hours, staring at the hole that he put in the wall.

Then the nightmares started.

Every single day for weeks, I would wake up to my brother screaming and wailing in the night, calling out our names and names I wasn’t familiar to. All of us sprinted down the halls into his room to find him thrashing and clawing at himself in his bed, sobbing and yelling like he had the night our father died. His body, clenched and red, was covered in his sweat and urine. Mori grabbed him by the shoulders, only for Miah to throw her off and send her crashing into the wall like a rag doll. He kicked my uncle and punched me until we finally got him to open his eyes. They were filled with terror only someone who has seen the devil has. Before any of us could say anything, gripped onto my pajama shirt and sobbed into my chest, shaking like a child. The sight made me want to vomit, but I didn’t have to, because Miah did it for me.

Mori went back to bed hiding her tears, and my uncle did the same, mumbling to himself. I was the only one to stay with him. I stripped his sheets, stripped him of his pajamas, and shouldered him to the bathroom. He would have slipped into the bathtub if I hadn’t caught him and eased him in gently. I bathed Mori when she was a baby, but I was too young to bathe Miah when he was too young to do it himself. Now, he was a man, and he needed me more than he did when he actually was a baby.

Water poured over him as I let the shower head run, washing away any filth he made of himself. I rubbed circled on his back with a washcloth in any attempt to calm him down. I wanted to cry, but I knew if I did, my brother would revert back to his previous state, and I could never do that to him. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” I said in a hushed voice ,”I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”. It was the first time I heard his voice since his episode.

“I can keep this,” I assured him ,”I don’t care what’s happened, I promised dad I’d keep you safe, and I will.”

Tears began to fall from Miah’s face in rivers as he stuffed his face into his knees. He threw up again, but this time just water and traces of bile. I reached out and brushed the bangs from his forehead, only to have him grab my wrist and look me dead in the eyes, terrified.

“Look at me!” Miah sobbed and gestured to below his belt ,”I’m not a man!”

“M-Miah- “

“No! No! Don’t try and tell me everything's okay! I’m a freak! The one thing I wanted in life was to be a better parent than mom was, to try and measure up to dad, but now look at me. I’m a pathetic f*cking freak!”

He froze and began to shake. I grabbed his shoulder and tried to bring him back to me but I lost him in the moment.

“The waters red,” he mumbled ,”my hands are red...Tommy, i-it’s all red.” The water was clear.

Without a second thought, I grabbed him and pulled him in once more and sobbed, cradling his head to my chest. He still shook, mumbling and weeping, but he didn’t resist. He let me hold him. He let me be his big brother once again.

Johnny got his gun alright, but he sure as hell didn’t fucking want it.

 

**_Mori_ **

 

“Miah?” I called out to him from the kitchen ,”what do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever you make is fine.”

I knew he would say something of the sort, but I didn’t question it.  Breakfast food was always something that cheered him up, and even though it wouldn’t do much, I wanted to do something that would make my brother remember his time before everything happened.

Every time I used the cleaver on the daisy ham, it made a loud booming sound as it hit the wooden cutting board. It didn’t phase me, I was used to it. I even tried to do it in rhythm to pass the time.

_ Boom. _

__ I heard my brother shift on the couch.

_ Boom. _

__ His hyperventilating echoed from the living room.

_ Boom. _

__ _ Boom. _

__ _ Boom! _

I looked over after I heard him fall from the couch and saw him push the end table over and trying to lunge across the room to me, desperately crawling and screaming. The cleaver crashed to the ground as I dashed and slammed the kitchen door shut, putting all my weight against it so he couldn't come in. He pounded and pounded and pounded against the door for an eternity, screaming and trying to get in. The fear I felt the night Miah slapped me could never compare. Now, he had every intention of killing me.

“Uncle John! Thomas!” I called out for them and prayed for their rescue ,”please!”

I don’t know when his punching and wailing began to slow, but it soon turned into a quiet sob on the other side. Nothing could bring me to open that door, no matter how much I wanted to help him. In the end, I was still terrified of him. I was terrified of my own brother.

“I-I’m sorry,” he weeped ,”I-I’m so sorry…”

I trembled and pressed my hand to the door, hoping to feel his warmth, but I felt nothing.

“Please…” I whispered ,”get help.”

 

**_Thomas_ **

 

**** Miah himself insisted on going to the hospital to consult a doctor or psychiatrist or anyone that could help. My uncle and I drove him while Mori stayed home, refusing to get into the car with our brother. I had to hold myself back from scolding her and yelling at her, because I had to realize that I wasn’t the one Miah had tried to hurt.

I left him at the hospital that day with hope of recovery, hope of our old life. He kept the cross I gave him lifetimes ago, and I have faith that He will guide my brother. 

My uncle finally patched up that hole in the living room wall that had plagued the family for months as a constant reminder of what Miah wasn’t. He wasn’t a monster. He was a sweet boy in the devil's game of chess. He was the boy who would tutor pretty girls with only the intention of helping them. He was the boy who let my baby sister cry to him, and was the one to nurse her back to her former, strong self. He was the most amazing boy the Lord ever put on this earth and he was put here for a reason.

I have faith he will one day be that boy again. It was the only thing I could have. Faith.

 

**_Miah_ **

 

**** I never was that boy again. My uncle knew I couldn’t ever smile like I used to, but he kept the information from my siblings for their own safety. I didn’t have the heart to tell them either.

The constant doctor trips kept me grounded. The next few years I saw my sister graduate and get accepted into the Ivy League’s. I saw my brother work towards his highschool diploma once again. I even saw my uncle, who was too proud to shed a tear, seek the therapy that he so desperately needed as well. I watched the days and nights roll by me like a film, never truly knowing where I was going. 

During my days, I thought of Will. I tried to reach out to the family but with no success. My therapist had to remind me that Will was not a figment of my imagination, that he was a real man and a real friend. I began to forget aspects of him, but I never forgot his smile, or the way he called me “Vermont boy.”. I’ll always remember that.

The night before my sister left for Harvard’s medical branch, I asked everyone to come out with me to the backyard. I held the American flag under my right arm and my crutch under my left as they followed me into the back. They weren’t told what I was planning on doing, but when I threw the flag onto a pile of wood, my uncle understood. He helped me pour the lighter fluid all over our nation’s flag as my siblings watched, nervous, somewhat unnerved. I looked at my brother as I lit the match, who gave me a worried gaze. I simply smiled and peered over at my uncle, who nodded as he lit his match as well. 

We watched the flag burn for hours that night, the embers ascending to the heavens in honor of the soldiers there. The flames were different to that of the burning bush from all those years ago. One was a call, a command or plea, and one was a Requiem.

I saw my uncle cry for the first time since my father’s funeral as he looked at the flames. I joined him, and so did my siblings.

It doesn’t matter much how I feel now, because Tommy’s words still ring true. The only thing we have to live for is faith. It was something the soldier boys and I believed as we gathered around that burning bush and it's something I believe in today. I would never be the boy I once was, but in the end, I was gonna be okay. Today, with my family by my side, I will always have faith.

I will be okay.


End file.
